


Comfort in the Sound

by Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me



Series: Copious Cockles [5]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Anger, Angst, Childhood Trauma, Cockles Week, Crying, Friendship, Homelessness, Human Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Relationships, M/M, Memories, POV Jensen, Past, Protective Jensen, Season/Series 09, Siblings, Understanding, Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 07:13:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4051039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me/pseuds/Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The stress ... the weight of it all is eating him alive and Jensen can't seem to escape the fearsome jaws. But someone else has suffered worse bites and he has to nurse those wounds before he can heal his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort in the Sound

**Author's Note:**

> This is my third and final installment for Cockles- Week. I hope you enjoy it ... it has a bit of a different feel from the other two.

      The strings on his guitar cut into his fingers, telling him it’s been too long since he last played. Jensen bites the inside of his lip as he presses harder—working in new callouses, trying to find the right chords … _still failing_. It’s been a long day of filming and they’re finally done; but it seems _even_ his means of relaxing want to stress him out now.

       He’s ready for bed.

       He’s ready to go home.

       He’s even kind of ready for the season just to be _over_.

       Something about this day … something about this week, it’s draining him and he just wants it to end.

       The guitar is soon leaned up beside him on the couch, sitting there like an estranged friend who randomly popped in for a visit. They stay in anxious silence a bit longer before Jensen finally gets up and walks away, needing to make _some kind_ of noise ... to inch out the ones in his head.  _Danneel’s laugh_. The sound of their dog growling as he chews on his toys—the tiny _thump_ of his baby’s heartbeat when he presses his ear to the beautiful curve of his wife’s belly. The sounds are tainted now with distance—fading cruelly into the sky. He takes some long strides towards his fridge, quickly opening it and grabbing a couple of beers—knowing he’ll finish the first quickly, and won’t want to move again for the second. The bottles _clink_ in his hand, already dulling some of the echoes between his ears. He heads back to the tiny living area in his trailer, sitting down in a chair that faces away from the couch and that old friend who just doesn’t want to sing for him. With a twist of his wrist, _another_ friend makes a timely appearance—pressing to his lips with warmth and welcome.

       The world outside his trailer starts to slip away. Every inch of wire and every clunky piece of equipment all diminish with his vision. The set singes around the edges—curling into itself like a note on fire. That old, busted prop bus’s wheels fill once more with air and it rolls away … taking with it every other portion of this place; this place that was created for a week—for this episode … for _millions_ of eyes—but not _his_.

       Jensen wriggles down in his chair, squeezing his lids tighter as he tries to imagine that he’s home … no longer needing to play up his fear and his hurt for the sake of _Dean Winchester_. He knows it’s not real—it’s only _acting_ , but the well he has to tap for those emotions is _all too_ of this world; and when it drains, the only place left for the muck to rush, is through his mind—drowning out all the current feelings that make him want to smile. The images of Jared in a hospital bed flash across his recent memory. _Misha_ —looking broken and dejected, turning away from him and leaving for good … _himself_ , not being able to stop any of it— _it’s real somehow_. At the time, they were _Sam and Cas,_ but right now, as he struggles against the sloshing fluxes of his reminiscence, _they’re his best friends_ and the emotions needed in order to make the scene—used their _true_ names. It hit him hard. This _whole, damn season_ is just hitting him hard.

       His eyes burst open as he hears someone yelling outside. Jensen sits up as the sound grows nearer—soon, filling the air just behind his door.

       “ _Jared!_ I don’t know _why_ you think this is helping, but _it’s not_! Put me down!”

       “ _Not yet_ … almost there.”

       “You are _fucking_ insane! Did you learn empathy from a caveman? _Put me the fuck down!”_

       He hears a hollow _thud_ —the sound a body makes when colliding with a fist … something he hears a lot when he’s got his Dean-suit on.

       “ _Ow!_ Stop it! I’m gonna put you down in a sec, just _stop_ hitting me!”

       “Stop wearing me like a scarf!”

       His door rattles—quickly flying open after the latch is freed. Jensen’s face pinches with confusion as two feet enter first—floating in midair. The black loafers are trailed by a set of long legs, then a torso, bent like a hanger over Jared’s broad shoulder. The tall man presses inside, finally revealing the second half of Misha—looking defeated and exhausted at his back.

       “Okay … _here we go_ ” Jared says while walking towards the couch. He reaches out for Jensen’s guitar, quickly grabbing its neck and handing it back to his confused friend.

       Jensen takes it blindly—setting it on the ground next to his chair. His eyes are still glued on Jared as he flings Misha off his shoulder and onto the couch. The shorter man coughs as he hits the cushions—sounding like the wind had been knocked out of him.

       Jared's long hair flips as he finally turns to meet Jensen’s eyes. “Hey, man” he says, seeming a little out of breath himself, but _happy_ —relaxed, and Jensen envies the tone.

       “ _Umm_ … _hey_ , guys. What’s going on?”

       “Jared kidnapped me, _that’s_ what’s going on!” Misha growls, kicking his feet round and sitting up on the couch in one, fluid motion. His head drops into his palms and he runs his fingers through his already messy hair—dragging them back down and rubbing his eyes. He leaves them there, as if hiding from any other attacks that could be awaiting him.

       “Can you do something about this?” Jared asks, rounding back to Jensen after looking down and frowning at Misha’s crumpled form. His hand gestures over to the man and Jensen follows it.

       “About what?”

       “ _Nothing_ … your friend here is just being an intrusive idiot” Misha mumbles through his fingers—still keeping the world at a distance.

       “ _No_ , I’m trying to be _nice_ ” Jared hisses, barely cocking his head in Misha’s direction. His eyes focus even harder on Jensen in the process. “I found him like this. _I mean_ … he’s been off all week—you’ve noticed that, right? And then I go into the viewing room to grab something … and I find _this_ _guy_ —sitting in the dark, all hunched over like he is now. _Obviously_ , something’s up with him _.”_

       Jensen’s lips part as if he actually has words to say—but he has _nothing_. He turns to take a closer look at Misha as the man finally peeks out from his palms. His eyes are sunken in … and _it’s not_ from the make-up on his face. The crystal blues are dulled and dirtied—coated with something he just can’t pinpoint. He almost seems pale. _Is he sick?_ Jensen starts to feel his stomach churn with alarm. “You okay, man?” he finally asks, his worried heart aching as it cautiously pounds.

       “I’m _fine._ Jared just has an over active imagination and wants me to play the part of the _worst-case-scenario_.” The angry fire that’s filling Misha’s glare burns Jensen by association, and he wonders how Jared’s hair isn’t smoking. “ _I’m just tired,_ and I was _about_ on my way back to my trailer for a nap when _this_ _behemoth_ decided to attack me with questions … and then just _attack me._ ”

       Jared rolls his eyes. “Well, if you actually _answered_ my questions, I wouldn’t have had to drag you over here.”

       “If you would have just _left me alone_ , you wouldn’t have felt compelled to drag me _anywhere_!”

       “I’m not going to leave you alone if you’re depressed.”

       Misha reluctantly pulls his back into a straight line, squinting his eyes as he heatedly peers at the tree of a man standing between them. “I’m _not_ depressed.”

       Jared laughs sarcastically as he fiscally scans back to Misha. “I know what _depressed_ looks like, man. It looks like _you._ ”

       Misha’s jaw clenches on restrained words before disappearing once more into the darkness of his hands.

       “Anyway, can you do something about this, man? He won’t talk with me but I figured he probably would with you—and he needs to talk to _somebody_ , or whatever is eating him is going to eat him completely, and I don’t want to see that happen.”

       Jensen nods after a moment, still trying to wrap his head around it all. He’s honestly not sure what _he_ can do. Of course he wants to help, but he doesn’t feel like he can be much help to anyone right now. Misha sighs, deep and loud—drawing Jensen’s eyes back to him, curled over on his couch. _He looks miserable_. _I need to do something._ He may not accomplish much, but he can at least try. “Yeah, man. I’ll talk to him. _But_ … I think you better go before he strangles you.”

       Misha peeks through his fingers, making eye contact with Jensen for the first time since he was dragged in the trailer … and something seems to glow behind his irises.

       Jared looks down at their messy headed co-star one more time before finally bobbing his head. “Yeah … _okay_ , good idea. Let me know if you guys need anything. I think I’m gonna stay in the trailer tonight anyway, so I’ll be around.”

       “Will do, bud. _Thanks_ ” Jensen offers, standing up with the last of his words.

       Jared reaches out and collects him in a quick hug—that’s almost too full of feeling for its brevity. They pull apart and in another moment, one of the man’s heavy hands is clasping down on Misha’s shoulder. “Take care, buddy … and for what it’s worth … sorry I pissed you off.”

       Misha shrugs away the touch, grumbling some indecipherable curses without looking up at him.

       “Okay … _well_ , I’m off.” And with that, Jared turns and heads out the door—letting it slam behind him on squeaky hinges—shutting in his two best friends and all the words still left to be said.

       “ _So_ …” Jensen begins after a quiet moment, hoping that Misha’s lips will unglue now that Jared is gone.

       “ _So_ … if you don’t mind …” Misha whispers, uncurling his body once again and turning his head towards the door. “I’m going to take my leave and try to get a nap in before I have to skype with Vicki.” The man doesn’t waste another moment and is soon pushing himself upwards, seeming almost uneasy on his feet—rocking forward with his own weight.

       “ _Uh_ …” Jensen begins to panic a little—unsure if he should try and stop the guy. _After all,_ it’s not every day that Jared just _drops_ someone on his couch— _there has to be a good reason_. “Hey … _well_ , I mean, you _can_ stay, Mish. I don’t mind. I—I know you’re tired but, you could stay a bit … _you know_ , if you wanna talk.” He rubs the back of his neck, gritting his teeth with his own, poor attempt.

       Misha forces a smile— _a much sorrier effort_ , especially from someone who usually puts his all into everything. “Thank you, Jensen, but I _really_ _am_ fine. Jared is just paranoid and a worrier. I know his heart is in the right place, but his means of helping people needs to evolve about fifteen thousand years.”

       “ _Heh_ , yeah” Jensen agrees, even though _he knows_ —there’s really no one better at listening than Jared. There’s no better friend in the world; which begs the question: _why the hell did he bring Misha here?_ His distraction on the thought is stunted as Misha starts to walk away. _Damnit!_ He bites down, cutting off his uneasiness at the base and trusting Jared’s instinct over everything else. _He_ thinks Jensen can help … so he should help. “Man … _I know_ … I know you’re fine, but _um_ , _I’ve_ been having a rough time lately. _I don’t know._ I’m really stressed out over all this _soon-to-be dad_ shit, and then just all this travel and crap. _Man_ , I’m fucking _exhausted_ and … and I was just hopin’ we could talk about it, ya know? I mean—you get it. _You’re doing it too_.”

       Misha stopped just shy of the door, staring at the handle as Jensen finishes his speech. He finally glances back, a look on his face that proves _he knows_ what his friend is trying to do, but he is going to play along anyway. He lets out a heavy sigh and shifts around again to the inside of the trailer. “ _Sure_ , _Jen_ … you know I’m always here if you need to talk.”

       Jensen smiles weakly, already kicking himself for the lie. He doesn’t want to talk— _he’s not a talker_. He likes to be alone when he’s upset, _or with Danneel_ ; and even _then_ , she will just lay his head in her lap and run her hands through his hair—giving him his time to work it out on his own. His chest tightens with that thought … he wishes that’s where he could be right now. She is all he really needs.

       Misha begins to move past him, shrinking with each step and seeming too close to breaking.

 _But he needs someone too._ The realization pushes Jensen's ache down, squelching it beneath the firm press of concern for his friend’s wellbeing. He watches as the man sits upon the couch for a second time, peering back to him in intervals—bouncing between _expectant_ and _anxious_. Jensen turns a corner of his mouth up, watching as Misha mimics the action—knowing that _neither_ one of them is fooling the other. With a labored breath, he finally moves over to the man’s side and sits a distance away—understanding that closeness would only make things _more_ tense.

       A minute passes with nothing said— _save_ the words screeching through his brain, all seeming too _random_ and _fake_ to offer in this moment.

       “So?” Misha finally starts, peeking over to Jensen and shrugging his shoulders.

       “So ... _um_ , yeah …” he gives himself a moment to figure out what to say “So—I’ve … I’ve been stressed, you know” Jensen stammers, knowing it’s true but wondering why he feels like he’s lying. “ _Just_ … life has been tough and _filming_ … filming has been getting to me.”

       “I know what you mean” Misha offers, leaning back against the pillows behind him—looking somewhat at ease for the first time since he was carried in here.

       “ _Yeah, man_ … what is it about this season?” A comfort begins to brew within his words and he leans back as well—relaxing alongside his friend who is thankfully—starting to feel like one once more.

       “I don’t know” Misha grumbles but Jensen thinks there isn’t much truth in that.

       He decides to wait on pressing the matter further. “It’s seriously like every episode has been designed to be a total _life-suck_.”

       An honest but strained chuckle spurts from Misha’s throat. “ _Yeah_ … I am starting to wonder if they’re just really trying to break us.”

       “ _Maybe_ ” Jensen considers out loud, not liking the part of him that believes it might be true.

       “ _But_ … we just have to tough it out, I guess. _It’s our job_.”

       Jensen turns and eyes his friend curiously. He’s _never_ heard the man say something so _generic—_ so _easy_. Misha is not one to offer up such a standard platitudes. He’s the opposite of _substandard_. There’s nothing generic about him. He’s handmade— _one of a kind_ , unique and unlabeled. _Something must be really wrong here._ “Yeah … _I guess_.” Jensen takes a deep breath again, feeling even more helpless now than he did before. “I just … I mean, _I know_ it’s our job to basically fake everything; _but_ … it always feels just a little wrong to put on a smile when you’re actually feeling miserable.” He sighs, turning away from the man beside him and setting his eyes to the stucco. “And it’s _even worse_ when you have to fake the misery—but … it’s not really fake at all.” He sees Misha nod slowly from the corner of his eye. “I don’t even know _why_ , but right now it’s like every scene we do is just hitting some raw nerve. It’s been fucking me up, man … _you know?_ It’s like the entire script is trying to trudge up something. _”_ Jensen rocks his head to the right once more to watch for Misha’s response; but only sees the man’s neck straining to turn away from him. Strangled noises squeak at random from his throat, and the barely-visible rim of his eye is glimmering with a tear. “Mish?”

       Misha shakes his head—still wrenched opposite from Jensen’s concerned looks.

       “ _Mish_ … you okay, man?”

       More choked noises muscle past his chapped lips.

       “Hey … hey, _it’s alright_ …” Jensen begins to scoot closer, reaching out his hand to touch Misha’s shoulder, but it’s jerked away—somehow knowing that the fingers are looming there. “ _Mish_ …”

       “No! _I’m fine!”_ he spits, coughing to try to straighten out his voice—but it’s still worn-out with dents and pinches.

       “I … I know you keep _saying_ that, but it’s kind of obvious _you’re not_ , man.” Jensen inches in more, chasing his friend until they’re both lop-siding the sofa.

       “I am … _I promise_. I’m just … being _stupid_ ” Misha whispers, sniffling slightly and running his hand across his face.

       Jensen sighs, looking over his friend’s back and wishing the guy would turn around. “Whatever this is …” he softens his voice and let’s his fingers finally connect with the man’s shoulder, sliding down the tensed arm slowly, and squeezing it tight “It certainly doesn’t seem stupid to _you_ … not really.”

       And Misha finally breaks, hunching forward over the side of the couch and muffling his sobs with the heels of his hands. The top of his spine is soon warmed with Jensen’s touch—rubbing in comfort with a thumb as the body beneath quietly heaves and lurches.

       “Talk to me, man … whatever it is, _it’s okay_ to talk about it.”

       Misha explodes, bouncing to his feet and turning around—his face is _red_ and _wet_ , but his eyes are burning—making him seem like a stranger … some other _thing_ that Jensen has never met before. This isn’t the man he knows … _at least,_ he doesn’t think it is. “It’s _not_ okay! I don’t get to be upset about this! I have _no_ right! I have no, _fucking_ right, okay? I was lucky!”

       Jensen tilts back, nodding out of fear and uncertainty. _What is he talking about?_ “Okay … _okay_ , Mish. I believe you …” he holds up an open hand, displaying his defenselessness. After a push, he begins to stand slowly, and Misha starts to back away, composing himself with each step. “But … _can you_ … can you tell me what it is you’re talking about?”

       Misha shakes his head again, looking more embarrassed than anything. “No … _I’m sorry_. I shouldn’t have yelled. I’m sorry, Jensen.”

       His heart cracks with the apology he neither needs nor wants. “Man, it’s fine. _Really_ … nothing to be sorry for; I just— _I want to help_.” Jensen walks a little closer, backing the man into a corner and making him lean up against the wall.

       “I—I told you, _i_ _t’s stupid._ I really am just being stupid. I don’t even know why this is getting to me. It never has before” Misha whispers, his eyes—finding solace in the ground beneath them.

       “Just because it’s something that hasn’t bothered you before, doesn’t mean it can’t bother you now. I—I don’t know what all this is about, but I know _you_ … you don’t make a big deal over _nothing_.”

       Misha folds his arms across his chest, hugging himself and making Jensen feel guiltier that he’s not the one taking on that task.

       He compromises; reaching out his hands and rubbing Misha’s shoulders, ducking his head down to try and catch the man’s eye. “Now, _please_ … tell me what this is about.”

       Misha sighs, looking defeated and tired. “It’s … it’s this—this episode.”

       Jensen straightens out again. “Yeah?”

       “All the … all the scenes with Cas … not having any place to go …”

       “He’s homeless” Jensen finishes for him—the pieces finally clicking together in his mind. _Cas is homeless_ —just like Misha was at one point. _Shit_. He feels even worse for not thinking of it on his own—for not asking the guy about how he would handle it when they first got the script. He knows about Misha’s past— _not in great detail_ , because the man only ever shares the _lighter_  stories … but _he_ _knows_ ; and he should have known better. Jensen kicks himself over and over, trying to whip his empathy back into shape—because, it’s _obviously_ been lacking as of late. “I’m sorry, Mish … these scenes must have brought back a lot of crap.”

       Misha nearly growls, straightening out again and tensing beneath Jensen’s hands—making them fall from his shoulders. Their eyes meet in a cold stare. “It’s not _the same_ though. _I_ was lucky … it shouldn’t be bringing up crap because _it’s not the same_.” The quiet fury in Misha’s voice locks Jensen’s joints in place. “I don’t get to drown myself in _pity_ I didn’t even earn.”

       “I—I’m sorry … I don’t know what you mean” Jensen stutters, hoping an explanation won’t upset his friend even more.

       “ _I_ had people! Cas doesn’t have _anyone_ , but I had people! I wasn’t alone! I was loved— _am_ loved! I’m _fucking_ lucky and have been _all my life_! I don’t get to let his story relate to mine! They’re not the same!”

       Jensen’s mouth opens before he can catch the latch. “But … _you_ were homeless too.”

       Misha’s eyes steady on him and Jensen feels like he might have just said one of the dumbest things in history. “Yes, but … _it’s different._ ”

       He bites his tongue, wanting to ask _how_ , yet he learned his lesson from a moment ago.

       “You don’t understand” Misha mutters, sounding half dejected and half cross.

       “I’m sorry” Jensen admits, still looking away.

       “It’s not your fault. It’s _no one’s_ fault. I just need to pull myself together” he sips between rattled breaths. “ _I told you_ … this is all just really _stupid_ and I’m overreacting for some reason.”

       The hinges on his jaw fail again—letting more thoughts rush out without being filtered. “Can you tell me about it?”

       Misha stills, looking hard at Jensen’s face as he finally turns back to him. “ _About_?”

       Nervousness clenches his heart, but he presses on. “About how it’s different. I wanna know.”

       “I don’t think now is—”

       “Please, Mish?” Jensen begs, knowing that if he lets this go now, Misha will only get worse—he can’t let that happen.

        _“Jensen_ …” Misha looks down again—his eyes softening as more tears wash over their arches.

       “ _Please_.” He rests his hand once more atop the man’s shoulder, feeling him diminish with every second it remains there.

       Misha nods pathetically.

       “ _Thanks_ … thanks, man.” He exhales a breath he feels like he’s been holding for too long. “Okay … let’s sit back down, alright? Is that okay?”

       Misha nods again—weaker than before.

       “Okay, man … _c’mon_.” Jensen firms his touch and pulls Misha closer; leading him around his body and eventually nudging him back towards the couch. The man plops down in the middle— _his eyes_ , glazed over with wet and hurt. Jensen sits right beside him—letting their sides press together and their knees touch. “ _So_ ... I mean … when—when did this all start getting to you?”

       “The bus” Misha says flatly—his words so quiet, Jensen barely hears him.

       “Oh …” He stalls—at a loss of what to say next. “Did … did that _remind_ you of something?”

       “We slept on one once. My brother, my mom and myself—but it was a _nicer_ one. We found it unlocked, and it was really cold outside; but the bus had just been turned in for the night, so it was still warm and it was well insulated. _We lucked out_.”

       Jensen nods, feeling himself choke up at the thought of a couple of kids and their mother—really having no other option than an unlocked bus. “ _Yeah_ …” he tries to play up his enthusiasm. “That was really good it was unlocked, man.”

       Misha nods some more—obviously not willing to offer up too much without being compelled.

       “ _So_ , it must have been weird … thinking about that again. I can see—I mean … _I get_ why that might start to eat at you.”

       The meager man beside him sighs, bending forward—placing his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. “ _But it shouldn’t_ ” he grumbles, seeming thoroughly aggravated with himself. “Cas was there because he was turned away by the people he loves. He’s lost and confused— _alone_ and in constant danger. That wasn’t how it was for me. My mom was _always_ there. I never _for one moment_ felt like a burden to her—even though, _I’m sure I was_. I felt lucky—I _was_ lucky … because I knew I could help her too by taking care of Sasha. We all had each other. We weren’t in danger of losing that … _we wouldn’t allow it.”_

       Jensen nods, snaking his hand around Misha’s back and patting his side. “Yeah … I get that, _I do_ —but _I mean,_ how old were you then? You had to be young, man. That shit still must've been scary, even with your mom there. It’s _understandable_ that those things would fuck you up because of scenes like _that_.”

       He watches as Misha lifts his head and bites his lip—clenching his jaw as his eyes fill yet again. A watery glance is soon tossed in Jensen’s direction. “I—I didn’t want to be scared.”

       Jensen pulls the man closer to his side. “No one _wants_ to be scared, Mish. But it’s normal to feel that way when things aren’t in your control.”

       The man’s blue eyes shake as more red etches into the white. “I couldn’t show it … you know, _because of Sasha_. If I was scared … _he would be too_. _So_ —so I smiled when I wanted to cry. I—I made sure I joked around with him, and made him laugh … but _sometimes_ it wouldn’t work. He’d still …” Misha’s voice cracks and he sucks in more air—as if there’s not enough for them both to breathe. “He’d _still_ cry … he’d still cry and then my mom would have to hold him. I felt so ... so useless!” His fingers shoot up and tangle into his own hair. “ _Fuck._ I just didn’t want him to cry!” The sobs come in heaves—breaking him in half, and Jensen no sooner flings his other arm around his front, wrapping him up and pulling him into his chest.

       “He’s okay, Mish” he whispers, unsure if his friend can even hear him over his own fits. “ _Sasha is okay_ — _your mom_ is okay … everything you couldn’t do for them then, _you can do for them now_. And I know that _you are_ … you’re still there for them.”

       “But what if he remembers?” Misha gasps, letting more tears spill out onto Jensen’s shirt.

       “Who? _Sasha_?” Jensen asks helplessly—wishing he knew more of the story beforehand so he could be of better help now.

       “What if he remembers the cold? What if he remembers the _sounds_?” Misha grips at Jensen’s arms, as if he is trying to pull them closer—Jensen does it for him, and the man ducks his head into their hold.

       “I … _I don’t know_ …” Jensen shakes his head at himself, at very least, feeling grateful that Misha can’t see the panicked look on his face. “I—I’m sure he doesn’t remember _much_.”

       “I didn’t think _I_ really remembered! Not until the bus!” Misha counters, now—trying to pull away but Jensen holds him steady; and he’s not sure which one of them he’s really doing it for.

       “ _Oh_.”

       “What if something happens and he remembers? There’s so much I don’t want him to think about …” His cries die down a little as he stops himself— _apparently_ , not wanting his mind to go there either.

       Jensen leans back, bringing Misha with him and pulling the man’s head onto his shoulder. “Mish … I—I can’t say for certain if he remembers or not. _But_ … if you always tried to make him laugh, or you always tried to be the thing he focused on _instead_ _of_ all the bad stuff— _I’m sure_ he remembers _that_ more than anything.” He smiles slightly and lifts his hand, letting his fingers run through the tangles in Misha’s hair—gently undoing each and every knot. “That’s what _everyone_ remembers about you. That’s what makes you so _amazing_. People only think about how you make them happy—that’s all you leave room for.”

       Jensen listens as the man leaning against him quiets some— _his chest,_ still jerking with rushing breaths, but obviously on the downhill portion of the race. He watches as Misha rubs at his eyes, trying to wipe away the mess. In another moment, Jensen is reaching behind him, blindly feeling around the sofa-table to find the box of tissues he normally keeps there. He nearly knocks over his wedding photo before he finds it, quickly stilling the frame and then grabbing hold of the box, bringing it round—handing it to his friend. Misha takes a few tissues and cleans himself off … eventually blowing his nose and making Jensen chuckle with the trumpeting noise. He feels Misha give a small laugh as well—inhaling easier now and giving some peace to the room.

       They sit quietly for a long while—watching the night spread across the window in gusts. One by one, crickets join in a chorus to give life to the dark—and behind them, tree frogs round out the bass, leaving the men with something to listen to as more words take their time to mature and grow. Misha had about quieted completely when Jensen added his own chords to the symphony—sounding somewhere between a laugh and a gasp.

       “What?” Misha asks softly, nuzzling his head further into the curve of Jensen’s neck.

       “I was just thinking …” Jensen begins, letting his tired mind off its leash now—not caring how far it runs. “How you’d be a much better Dean than what we have now.”

       Misha peels himself from his friend’s side, making Jensen shiver with his absence. Swollen blue eyes look him over in question, obviously not getting where he’s going with this.

       Jensen sighs. “You have a little brother who you had to look after— _even_ while you moved around … _all over the place._ I mean, you had to be brave for him—you tried to make sure he didn’t know about the dangers in the world—but _I’m sure_ you still taught him how to protect himself too.” Jensen smiles and looks away towards the wall of photos that stands next to his door—over nine years’ worth of memories, all from the perspective of someone he had to _train_ to be—meanwhile, Misha came by it all _naturally_. “You lived his story, man. I had to _learn_ it, but you _lived it_.”

       Misha shakes his head as he looks down at the small space between their bodies, pressing his lips together in a hard line. “I wouldn’t be a good Dean … I’d fall apart with _every_ episode; _you_ can attest to that.”

       “That’s what I mean though.”

       Misha glances back up—seemingly more puzzled than he was before.

       “You’d be a _better_ Dean. You wouldn’t brood and push people away. You would be honest and helpful.”

       The worn out man laughs sarcastically at his side. “Lest you forget Jensen, I wasn’t exactly _forthcoming_ about sharing all this … I think I’m more like the current Dean than _I_ would even care to admit.”

       Jensen shakes his head. “ _No_ … I know _that_ Dean. I know him _really well._ You’re not him.” He reaches out and pulls Misha against his chest once more—closing his eyes and smiling as the man nestles down easily, like it’s a habit—like it’s something they always do— _a routine_ that offers mutual comfort without any question … without _any_ concern. “That’s why it’s good that you’re Cas … you’re the _better_ person that Dean can strive to be. I know Cas isn’t perfect—”

       Misha scoffs. “Ain’t that the truth!”

       Jensen nudges him with the side of his arm, laughing into the man’s hair as it tickles his chin. “But _he’s_ the guy Dean can focus on—the one who makes him laugh when the night is too cold, and the noises outside are too loud. _He’s_ the only protection Dean really has … and I’m telling ya, man … that means everything to him. Dean won’t ever forget that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Check out the rest of my Ao3 for more Cockles and Destiel fluff, smut and angst.
> 
> Check out my tumblr at [castiel-left-his-mark-on-me](http://castiel-left-his-mark-on-me.tumblr.com)


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